A Light is Extinguished

I just found out that my daughters’ friend committed suicide yesterday.

It”s been years since I’ve seen this person, yet this is hitting me hard. This friend went on a few trips with our family when everyone was younger.

Out of respect, I’ll simply call her “B.”

I remember B as a sweet person, fun, funny, and a good soul.

At this point, I cannot even imagine the series of events that led her to her decision yesterday. What could have gone so wrong in the life of someone barely in her second decade of life?

I worked for a short time on an inpatient mental health unit at a VA hospital. We have a lot of people check in, some several times during my service there, for suicidal ideation.

After working with and talking deeply with some of these veterans, I figured out that most (let me repeat that) most people with suicidal ideation don’t actually want to end their life. They are living with situations that feel so hopeless, and never ending that they want the pain to end. They want the suffering to stop. They may feel like the only option to end that pain and suffering is suicide.

Maybe that’s where B’s thinking was yesterday.

My family is grieving her loss, as are many others.

I still remember that Halloween when she dressed up as the vomiting rainbows Snapchat filter…

That person felt joy and brought joy to others.

I’ll probably never really know what happened to bring her to yesterday. Those that are left behind are trying to make sense of something that never will.

I wish I had some profound wisdom or comforting perspective to offer, but I don’t. Someone that I remember as a light in this world is gone, and I will miss her very much.

May those of us lucky enough to know her, eventually find peace.

We're Doing Something a Wrong

This post was originally created September 30, 2014

So let me set the stage for you... There I was this morning, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I saw a post of Facebook. It was one of those posts that points our the GROSS misperception that a lot of the world still has about music therapy.

Then, the usual conversation developed...is it worth it to stay in music therapy...nobody understands what we do...frustration, frustration, frustration...

The usual.

Then something interesting happened. Someone brought up the point that there seems to be a lot of inconsistency in music therapy programs...that there are some "bad" music therapists out there, and that it detracts from the credibility of our profession in general.

That was a new one for me. A valid concern, but a new one for me.

Well, then I got all Indigo energy about it and wrote this response:

Sure, there are brilliant music therapists, and there are awful ones. Same way with doctors, psychologists, OT's, PT's, bank tellers, fry cooks, dog groomers...

How many tenured teachers should never have been allowed in a classroom?

I have a friend who is a brilliant musician but would suck as a MT because of not dealing well with other people's emotions.

You can help people develop intuition in clinical practice, but you can't teach it.

Maybe some hard looks at MT program content in college is in order. Maybe this is another reason for (here it come!) masters level entry.

Raise your hand if you'd love to NEVER answer "Did you have to go to school for that?" again.

When was the last time a PT, OT or SLP got asked that question?

Oh, but Stephen, you may say, we have UNIQUE skills and we keep trying to fit into the mold created by other therapies.

Yep. And you know what? We ARE unique! We are the only bachelors entry profession in that bunch. We are the FIRST to get cut when budgets get tight, because there are no laws on the books. We are among the lowest paid of those professions.

Formal profession for 65 years, 50 years of clinical research, and nobody knows who we are or what we do.

WE ARE DOING SOMETHING WRONG!

Any idiot who can play a harp or set up a playlist on an iPod says they are doing music therapy.

WE ARE DOING SOMETHING WRONG!

Do you recommend leg lifts for someone and say you are doing physical therapy? Nope!

Do you talk to someone about their feelings and advertise yourself as a psychotherapist? Nope!

WE ARE DOING SOMETHING WRONG!

Unless real, concrete and MASSIVE change happens, and I mean NOW, the MT's in another 65 years are still going to be whining about "nobody understands what we do" and "I can't make a living because of my low pay."

We can complain and analyze until the sun collapses, but without major reform, the status quo will remain in effect.

How do you want to spend your time?

I Want To Create Beautiful Things

Today is my 50th birthday.

I don't feel 50 years old. I'm not sure what 50 years old is supposed to feel like, but...

Maybe that's what turning 50 is supposed to feel like...wondering if THIS is what it's supposed to feel like.

As this day approached, I really began thinking about what I want from the next fifty years and beyond.

The proverbial midlife crisis is well known, but I don't want to talk about that.

I want to talk about beauty.

Sure, I'm taking stock of where things are at and where I'd like them to go, but I've realized that I want one very simple thing from life: I want to create beauty.

Late last summer, my live in family moved to a very different part of the US. Here, there are mountains, and snow, and the thing I have been delighting in recently: Spring flowers!

More and more I realize that I am much more than a musician. “The Warrior Musician” is but one aspect of me. Creativity in many forms lives within me. Yes, it’s been said that all humans are creative, and I truly believe that. I’ve come to learn that for me, creativity seems to be a compulsion. Whether it’s a different way to organize the materials for my many interests/hobbies, or it’s a new twist on a family favorite recipe, I feel this deep urge, almost an urgency, to create.

I just finished a pottery wheel class at a university. My sophomore classmates, with their wheel experience in high school made some truly amazing things! I had never touched a pottery wheel before this class. My finished work is crude by comparison. Glaze didn’t stick in some areas, the bottoms and lips of some pieces, too thick, yet, I can look at these beginning efforts and appreciate the process.

I look at these initials pieces and think “I made that!” In partnership with the elements of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, I brought this work into existence.

You see, no matter what the end result is aesthetically, THAT is beauty!

I suppose it’s the music therapist in me that knows that process is more important than product, but this fundamental truth has become embedded in my soul.

Create!

It does not matter what the end result is; it will be beautiful (I hope it goes without saying that I’m referring to creation of things that add beauty to the world, and not things that create division or destruction).

I enter that caveat because it’s my birthday and today I choose to attend to only what is good and beautiful in the world.

All creation in a good way adds beauty to the world.

I am learning how to draw, travel journal, nature journal, crochet, make paracord bracelets…in the Fall I’ll be taking a glass making class.

I ask that everyone who has made it this far in my birthday musings grant me this one wish: try something creative you’ve always wanted to, but never have. It can be singing in the shower, trying that instrument you always thought would be fun to play, it can be that sketchbook no one else sees, or a journal, or blog, or photography or a recipe just for you. That’s how beauty starts. With the desire, and the action, and the willingness to keep doing it.

To paraphrase “The Most Interesting Man In The World” from Dos Equis commercials, stay beautifully creative my friends.

How We Teach, and How We Learn

I'm in a new environment where I have a lot to learn. Some of that learning is technical details and facts, some of the learning is polices and procedures.

I try to be humble and respectful when I'm learning in situations like this.

I will always remember a lesson learned from one of my marital arts instructors, someone who, at that time had over 60 years of marital arts experience. He said that he always carries a white belt in his bag (the outward sign of a beginner) and when in a new school, stands at the back of the class (also the sign of a beginner). He said that no matter how much he knows about his own martial art, there is always something to learn in a different style, and no matter what his experience in his own style, he is a beginner in other styles.

With that humility and beginner's mindset entrenched within me, I am learning a lot in my new environment. I have several teachers in this new environment and appreciate the unique way of teaching they all have.

Well, maybe not one of them...

I had an experience recently with this person and I came away feeling a lack of self confidence, and small, and even stupid.

As a formerly licensed educator, I am very conscious about the way I approach teaching when I am in that role for others. I am reminded recently that just because someone has a lot of knowledge and experience, it does not necessarily mean that person is a good teacher.

I will admit that I am not always a kind teacher myself. A good teacher yes, but not always kind.

I have a lot of Coyote energy in my life. I am influenced by it; I embody it.

If you're not familiar, in many Indigenous cultures, Coyote is a trickster.

As a teacher, Coyote's trickster energy becomes evident, often teaching through sometimes harsh lessons, and intentionally guiding people toward failure as a method of teaching what NOT to do.

I recall an amusing story my high school French teacher told that personifies this Coyote spirit to me. This teacher grew up on a farm, and one year, her brother got a new shotgun for his birthday. A younger sister was eager to try out this shotgun, but had no experience with them whatsoever. She said to the older brother, "Now tell me how to hold it so I don't hurt my shoulder. I know I have to hold it a certain way."

The brother said, "Okay, hold the stock of the shotgun about this far (measuring about half an inch with his fingers) from your shoulder."

As my French teacher looked on, the younger sister prepared to fire at a target.

Those of you who know firearms are quite aware of the concept of recoil.

If you are not, I'll explain:

Newton's Third Law of Physics states for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

For a firearm to propel a shell forward, there is energy propelled backwards. When speaking of firearms, this backwards energy is known as "recoil."

As this younger sister pulled the trigger, with the stock about a half inch from her shoulder, the recoil slammed the shotgun into her shoulder with enough force that it knocked her to the ground.

I am told the younger sister's shoulder hurt for several days.

From the ground, the younger sister looked up in disbelief and said, "Why did you tell me to do it that way?"

The older brother said, "Because now you will ALWAYS remember...you keep that stock as tight against your shoulder as you can so you never end up on the ground again."

Then the younger sister looked to my French teacher, who had quietly witnessed this series of events, and asked, "You know about this stuff! Why didn't you tell me I was doing it wrong?"

My French teacher simply replied, "You didn't ask me."

As hilarious as I still find that story after hearing it so many years ago, it is also a perfect example of Coyote energy in teaching.

Now I am finding myself in the position of inexperience and learning once again. I am finding gratitude for those that are teaching me with patience, without judgement.

There is one person though...

Most times when I am learning from this person, I end up feeling, inadequate, and even stupid at times.

I know I'm not stupid, I realize I am still learning, and I accept that no one is responsible for my emotions but me.

But still...

Recently, I was tackling a detail oriented task. It was not complicated, but there were many details to coordinate. When this person saw how I was approaching the task, I was told that I was wasting time by doing part of the task the way I was doing.

I have learned what works well for my neurodiverse brain, and my method was working for me. When that process got interrupted, it not only broke my flow, but as we later learned, if I had continued with my process, it would have saved time in the end.

I've heard that the guitarist John Williams (not the composer), who is a brilliant classical guitarist and performer, is not a good teacher. It's said that although he has the skill and experience himself, it's been so long since he was a beginner, that he can't remember how to break things down into manageable pieces for someone who is still gaining experience.

I feel like that with this teacher.

This teacher knows how things work, but apparently sees little value in anyone else's approach except their own, and experiences great frustration with someone still learning.

Although I was feeing dejected, I explained that I have worked out systems that help my brain keep track of what it needs to, and though it may not make sense for anyone else, it works for me.

I saw a glimmer of acceptance with that self advocacy, and a slight lightening of this teacher's mood, although I don't know if that will last.

In many things, I think gentleness and patience with people who are learning is best. That is the approach I am taking these days when I am in the role of teacher.

Most of my teachers are trying to quiet my self critical nature in this new environment. They recognize my sincere efforts to learn and grow and are supportive of that.

In the end, we all do the best we can, whether we are the teachers, or the learners.

I am grateful, not only for my patience and understanding teachers, but also the teachers that I end up feeling inadequate around.

There are lessons for me in both situations, and both serve my unquenchable desire to learn.

Figure out how you learn best, advocate for yourself, and express gratitude for your teachers...the ones you enjoy, and the one's you don't.

Have Drums…Will Travel

Sometimes you take a chance in life and things work out better than you could have ever imagined.

Today is not one of those days.

Recently I’ve been noticing a couple of posts on a local drum circle Facebook group asking about drummers coming to play at a roving market.

“Okay”, I thought. I get it…new age and holistic health vendors at this market…drumming seems to fit the vibe.

Yesterday, I saw a post for this market suggesting if any drummers wanted to come, hang out, and drum, that would be great!

I saw an opportunity.

I decided to take a chance!

I reached out on Facebook Messenger, and to make a long story short, said that I’m an experienced drum circle facilitator, I carry drums to share, and if they REALLY want people drumming there, it would be best to have someone to get things going at least.

She asked what I would like in return for doing this. I simply said I would put out a tip jar and see how it goes.

The dates and locations of the upcoming markets were also shared with me.

Yoga was scheduled for a time just before the market opened. I said I could be there when the market opened and could stay until it closed…four hours.

It was suggested I show up just a bit later in hopes there would be more people there. I had another gig before this market, and needed to be dropped off so my beloved wife could take our youngest to Trunk or Treat at school.

When I arrived, things were chaotic.

The market was at a neighborhood house that has been converted into an event center.

When I arrived, someone directed me to the organizer…someone’s whose name I hadn’t asked in our Messenger communications.

I introduced myself and said that I was there for drumming. The reply I got was an immediate and curt, “You have to wait. I told you to show up later.”

I explained again that my ride had to drop me off and I had no control over that timing.

The organizer then told me that there were significant delays because of lack of access to the space. She also showed me the small stage where I would be setting up…after the DJ who was just starting to spin vinyl was.

The DJ wasn’t mentioned in our previous conversation, and I didn’t think to ask for any more clarification. Clearly, she was stressed with the logistics, so after I unloaded, I found a comfy bench to wait on.

DJ is playing, people coming and going…

Then the rain started.

Fortunately, the stage where my gear was had some shelter from the rain.

I helped the DJ move his equipment further into the sheltered area. You have to be exceptionally gentle when moving turntables that are providing the music…

He expressed his thanks and we started chatting. I found out he was scheduled to spin for the entire duration of the market…

He offered to wind down early to make space for me, but I politely declined. We both began to wonder aloud how the organizer thought both the DJ and I would be able to craft our craft while the other was there.

I told him the organizer and I had only made arrangements the day before.

Then I reflected on the time I spent on creating the Eventbrite event, to help spread the word, making the social posts to promote the event to my network, loading the car with gear the night before, and my wife working around that gear during her daily routine, answering questions about the event through email and social…

Then what of my professional reputation?

If I commit to something, I follow through! If I say I will be somewhere drumming, I am there, and I am drumming, and encouraging others to drum with me.

As I write this, there’s about an hour and a half left of the market.

My ride can’t pick me up much earlier.

I’m focusing on the fact that I’ve had some time to people watch, respond to some email, and hear some good tunes on vinyl.

I’m not focusing on the fact that I have a fair amount of time and effort in on something that won’t actually further my work in this world.

In a sense I’m just shrugging and thinking there’s not much else I can do. I’m a little frustrated, but not angry. I’m not irritated or miffed either.

I just can’t figure why the organizer would make arrangements for me to be here (last minute as they were) when that very nice, very friendly DJ is here…

For me, I’ve learned that before I tell someone that I “have drums, will travel,” I’m going to get a bit more clarity on the expectations.

At least the rain seems to have passed…

Necessities of Life

Last night, I made a mistake...

I read posts on my neighborhood's Facebook group.

I live in a new build community that still has some parts of the neighborhood under construction.

Lately there has been a lot of information being passed on the group about the street closure schedule so asphalt can be put down.

Yesterday, this was posted by a neighbor:

Is anyone else pissed that we moved our cars for absolutely nothing this morning???? I just checked my camera on Blue Rock and not an asphalt truck in sight!!!

I will say that a majority of the replies mentioned where other neighbors saw the asphalt crew, and some include photos or videos.

If I would have just scrolled on, things would have been fine.

But I'm a bit of a button pusher...just ask my wife.

She says I excel at it.

I don't know this neighbor, but I felt compelled to comment.

There's a lot going on in the world today, and on the surface, this post seemed to reflect a very self centered, narrow view of the world. The kind of world view that perpetuates the massive challenges humanity faces right now.

So I commented thus:

Climate change, racial inequality, food and water quality constantly under attack, but this is the thing to get pissed about? 🤔

I know, I should have just left it alone. No one ever changed someone through social media.

I'd just like people to reflect for a moment, that maybe there are bigger issues at work in the world. It doesn't change our life situation, but maybe some awareness of the big picture could help.

This morning, I was tagged in this reply from said neighbor:

yes when you have a toddler who has a meltdown by the pool (because he thinks we are going swimming) because you have to walk by it, to get to your car, you had to move for no reason.. Have you ever experienced a toddler meltdown??? Not the first fun thing to do in the morning…..But I had my coffee after and I’m ok with the world again. Thanks for commenting neighbor….

With a little more context, the reality of this neighbor's frustration becomes more clear.

I mean, people need to vent. Life happens...I get it.

I didn't tell this neighbor that yes, I have experienced toddler meltdowns (I'm a father to five).

I didn't always handle toddler meltdowns well, although with experience I think I got better at it.

But this all seems so present in my mind because of what I'm reading.

I just started reading "Walden" by Henry David Thoreau. (My wife pointed out she read this on her own in 6th grade and again for a class in high school...I've never read it, though I've owned a copy for 30 years or so).

In the beginning of "Walden," Thoreau talks about "necessities of life."

He comments that what most civilized people consider to be "necessities" are most certainly not necessary to life.

I think Thoreau was speaking, in a sense, about Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs long before Maslow was born...physiological and safety needs being of utmost importance.

I guess I've seen enough "The Walking Dead" and "Falling Skies" episodes to really question what most people consider "necessary."

I get the same way when I see people posting about something they "can't live without."

I've given myself headaches by rolling my eyes so hard at those posts.

What are necessities of life?

What's truly important?

Was it worth it for this neighbor to be pissed about "moving her car for no reason?"

Maybe for her it was.

Is it scary and overwhelming to think about the huge issues facing the world outside of our communities?

Of course it is!

Is it my place to point out when people are catastrophizing things that will be forgotten in a day or two?

Probably not.

I could have had a more compassionate view of the situation too. I've had toddlers...I get it.

At the same time, when I see someone so blatantly demonstrating the small way they are thinking, I want to metaphorically slap them and say, "Hey! Knock it off! You're better than this!"

Humanity needs each an every one of us to get through our own crap, and get on to the wisdom and gifts we are meant to share with this world.

The world, humanity, is depending on us.

Asphalt crews will be behind schedule.

Toddlers will have meltdowns.

Self righteous bloggers will button push neighbors.

But we all have work to do folks.

Let's get to it!

"The Research"

Since I first entered the field of music therapy, I've said things like, "Well the research shows…<insert awesome research finding here>"

In fact, most music therapy advocates that I know say similar things.

Music therapists get especially excited with new music research findings because for a long time, we didn’t have the wealth of information we have now.

When music therapists started publishing research in the 1960’s, they could determine that intervention “X” worked for these clients in this setting, or that intervention “Y” worked for this group of people in that setting. Often times, they didn’t know why the intervention worked. The technology simply didn’t exist to determine the “why.”

Years later, with the advent of brain imaging, we were finally able to gain insights into the why of music therapy interventions. We could see which parts of the brain were active during different activities, including music therapy interventions.

As our understanding of how music and rhythm affect the human body, so many professionals talk about "the research." It almost feels like "the research" is some mythical being that hands down authoritative findings to deepen our understanding of the world.

For some people, there’s comfort in having an authority such as “the research” to guiding their view of how the world works. The question becomes, do we blindly trust that authority, or do we make our own judgments based on the best information we have available?

Besides being a music therapist, I’m also a teacher. As a teacher, I like to make information accessible to as many people as possible. The more information you have access to, the better you can understand, and make your own decisions about how the world works.

Once when I was about to undergo a treatment protocol for depression, I was told there were several research studies showing the effectiveness of the protocol. I expressed interest in reading the research and I was offered a pamphlet summarizing, in a very watered down way, the typical results of completing the protocol.

I clarified myself by saying, “No, I want to read the research…not this stuff you give to everyone else!”

After some looking through their files, they were able to produce copies of the studies their pamphlets were referencing.

I was able to read how the research was conducted, and what the results were without the filter of a marketing department that was trying to sell the treatment.

This helped me understand on a deeper level the procedure I was undertaking, and ultimately made the decision to try the protocol easier.

This is what I want to help facilitate for others.

For those that are interested, I’m collecting research articles on my website that detail the effects that music and rhythm have on the human body.

Admittedly, this research is filled with jargon, and can be a little difficult to understand at times. I find myself looking up unfamiliar terms when reading research sometimes, and this is a field I’ve been working in for nearly two decades.

I am currently working on summaries of all the articles posted on hiddenrhythmsmc.com for a more user friendly experience for those of us that don’t speak biomedically on a daily basis.

Most people will not be interested in seeing the actual published research, but I want to demystify the world of research for those who are interested.

My hope is that this will become a valuable resource for those who are as fascinated as I am by the power that music and rhythm have on the human body.

As Rod Serling used to say, “submitted for your approval.”

Father's Day 2021

So I’m in this mastermind group for creative people…mostly musician and artists. My friend Valerie from that group asked me to contribute a video as part of her Father’s Day event. You can find Valerie’s work here.

She gave me broad guidelines to work with. She gave me a preferred video length, she asked me to play some Native flute, and maybe give the inspiration that motivated my creation. You can find the video here.

I learned some things in the process of making the video. Yes, I learned more about video editing, and being a creator. I learned that my deep perfectionism is still very much alive. I learned that sometimes, good enough has to be good enough (even with the voice in my head screaming at me to fix the whole project).

But the thing that was the most profound learning for me, was about my Dad.

My Dad’s been gone for almost 20 years now.

Stephen F. Orsborn

1930-2002

I’m an only child, and don’t have anyone to reflect with about his life.

So these insights came as a true gift for me.

When asked, I have always described my Dad as a simple man. He worked hard to provide for us, he would occasionally have a beer when Mom decided to bake beer bread (although legend has it that he and his friends once knew EVERY place one could get a beer within a 200 mile radius of where they lived in rural Iowa).

He mowed the grass. He enjoyed getting his car washed at his favorite full service car wash…45 minutes away.

He served in the Army.

He surveyed roads.

He rode around with the local police officer, and delighted in the fact that he was on a ride along one particular Halloween when my uncle and his friends were discovered by that police officer causing mischief.

It was also reported that while in high school, he borrowed my grandfather’s car to cruise one night, and picked up some girls, who then refused to get out of the car. My Dad was insistent that he had to get the car home before his curfew, or he wouldn’t be allowed to use it again. The girls still refused to get out of the car, so my Dad calmly drove home by curfew, and parked the car in the garage with the girls still in it!

These are not the new insights I gained about my Dad from doing this project.

My Dad was not a very hands on Dad. Not very directly involved in my life.

I don’t think I ever remember him attending any of my school events. Not once concert, play, or musical I was in. Maybe there were a few Little League baseball games he attended, but I don’t know for sure.

He did help me build a telegraph when I was doing a project about Samuel Morse.

He was always willing to help with those practical things.

I don’t ever remember him telling me overtly that he loved me…at least not before Mom died, and then at my prompting him.

There weren’t hugs or physical displays of affection, although I have a photograph of my curled up on his lap, with a big bowl of popcorn, watching The Dukes of Hazzard.

Maybe I longed for some of those things, but didn’t realize it when he was alive.

He was part of the Silent Generation. Men didn’t show emotions. I can’t fault him for that I suppose.

Now, there were parts of his personality that most of us would find cringe worthy today. He was somewhat racist. It didn’t show often, but it was there. I’m also pretty sure he would not be the most LGBTQ friendly person either.

Although, he also had Midwestern politeness, so he’d never say anything racist or homophobic openly…even if he was thinking it.

What I learned during this video project, was that my Dad taught me by example. I don’t think that was ever his intention, but that was the result.

I learned the value of integrity, kindness, and loyalty. Fierce, but quiet loyalty. The kind of loyalty that I see in my oldest daughter today.

I found an unspoken example of that loyalty after he died. In his wallet, he carried pictures of the only grandchild he ever knew. She was was 8 months old when he died. He had every picture we’d ever given him of his granddaughter.

Behind those pictures?

Almost every school picture of me that exists.

Many years of pictures at least.

His wallet was thick. Not with money, but with a love he felt, though rarely expressed.

My Dad helped out his friends and neighbors when they needed it. Strangers too. Just to be helpful. Just because that’s what you do. That’s how you go through this world. Helping out when you can.

No, Dad wasn’t perfect (then again, who is?) but hindsight has given me such a rich appreciation for the man he was. An appreciation for those parts of him that I try to emulate. Parts of him that I hope get passed on to my children.

I chuckle now, thinking about what it would have been like if he’d lived long enough to meet all five of his grandchildren.

I don’t think they make a wallet big enough for all those pictures…

Holidays After Losing Someone

As the holidays fast approach, many people are looking forward to some respite from the chaos that has been 2020.

Christmas decorations started going up in my neighborhood right after Halloween. Stores had Christmas displays in September. Satellite radio Holiday stations went active earlier than usual.

It seems there is a collective voice saying “Yes, we need a little Christmas right this very minute!”

But, the holidays can be a huge, jumbled up, mixed bag of emotions for so many people too.

I’m particularly thinking of a friend who recently lost someone. The next couple of months are likely to be full of a myriad of conflicting emotions for her.

It’s going to suck.

There’s just no way around it.

The “first”…everything after losing someone is hard. First holidays, birthdays, anniversaries…it’s all going to be an emotional train wreck.

This can be especially confusing when it seems the whole world around you is celebrating joy, love, and peace.

Holiday cheer just can’t fill the emptiness you feel with the loss of that loved one.

I speak from personal experience.

For a long time, the holidays have been a confusing mess of emotions for me. The brilliant magic of the season with an underlying sense of despair and loss.

Three weeks after I got married (the first time) my Mom died.

No warning.

She was here, then she wasn’t.

That was just over a week before Christmas.

A year later, in January, on my Mom’s birthday, my Grandma (Mom’s mom) crossed over to be with her daughter.

December of that year, I had an emergency surgery (on the anniversary of Mom’s internment) that I was not expected to survive (I’m feeling much better now, thanks!).

Two years after that, a week before Mom’s birthday, Dad crossed.

So when people have a seemingly confusing mix of emotions around this time of year, I get it.

I have been living with this strange emotional hodgepodge for over two decades and for me there seems to be no rhyme nor reason as to how the holidays will affect my emotions.

Some years I have a fond remembrance of the good times with my lost loved ones and sometimes I sit for hours listening to that line from Dream Child by Trans Siberian Orchestra, “And all that night the snow came down, to heal the scars, our lives had found, and the years that lay broken…” and cry and cry.

I say all of this, because no matter how much we may need a little Christmas (or Thanksgiving, or New Year’s Eve) right this very minute, it can be complicated for people.

I invite you to hold compassion in your heart for yourself, and others (good advice no matter what time of year).

If you know someone dealing with a lost loved one, maybe lost during the holidays, or they are still adjusting to holidays without a loved one, offer them some love and support.

Sometimes, the simple act of saying, “The holidays can be hard, I understand” can make all the difference in the world.

The 730 Project Reboot

In case you aren’t familiar with The 730 Project, it is a concept by a meme that suggests people “show up” every day for two years.

The project was a way of keeping myself accountable. A daily video journal, documenting the day to day struggles of being present and engaged actively in creating the life I want to live, and the business I want to build.

The 730 Project has been on a hiatus for several months.

When I checked my last posted video, I uploaded it on January 28, 2020…not long before Covid 19 really started whuppin’ up on the world.

Truth is, I was getting burned out with uploading those daily videos.

I set myself a task, in such a way that was unsustainable for me. I made it more complicated than it needed to be.

Further, I realized that my often long winded videos were taking up a LOT of digital storage. I insisted on shooting all of my 730 project videos in 4K. That takes up some virtual real estate.

At the suggestion of a coach I’ve been working with, I’m rebooting the 730 Project. I’ve been thinking about doing that for a while now anyway.

I’m not starting over.

If memory serves, I got up to day 153 when I stopped posting. I was overwhelmed with the standards I set for myself in creating the videos, and the time required to upload 4K videos to multiple platforms was intense.

Then, the pandemic hit. The world was upended.

The 730 Project just didn’t seem worth it then.

What am I going to say every day?

“Still in lock down…can’t see people for live events…”

Now, it’s a different story.

At the time I’m writing this, the pandemic is still affecting life dramatically, but life does go on. It is time for me to really get back on the path I’m walking.

With the counsel of my coach, I’m rebooting The 730 Project.

I’m not sure exactly what it will look like. I’m not sure exactly how I will execute it, but I will complete the project. I’ll pick up where I left off. My goals, for life and business have shifted since I began, but what it takes to build the kind of life I want for myself and my family has not…

Showing up.

Keeping Fire

Drumming around the fire

Tonight, I am blessed.

Tonight, I am keeping fire.

Not for ceremony, or ritual.

Tonight, I am keeping fire for ancient tradition.

Tonight, I am keeping fire for storytelling.

Tonight, I am keeping fire for drumming.

Tonight, I am keeping fire for making s’mores.

Tonight, I am keeping fire for children playing on a beautiful evening, and a dog, now resting lazily after frolicking with the children.

Tonight, I am keeping fire in celebration of friendship, and togetherness, and goodness in this time of so much pain, so much fear, so much grief.

Tonight, I am keeping fire in memory of those lives that have so tearfully have reminded us that black lives DO matter.

Tonight I am keeping fire in peace.

As the little ones have gone to dream the night away, tended by beautiful mamas, and the dog has found that spot on the couch he likes so much, the embers are starting to burn down.

The only remaining evidence of the s’mores is a couple of forgotten graham crackers.

The drums are silent, and the crickets share their night songs in the cool evening breeze.

I am still here, keeping the last of the fire. Honoring with deep gratitude the trees that gave of themselves for our ancient…and modern human rites.

If you happen while I am keeping fire, rest a while.

Drum with me for a while…you already know how.

Share a story, maybe share what brings joy (or heaviness) to you heart.

I’ll bet we can find some more chocolate and marshmallows…

Or just sit.

Enjoy the warmth.

Enjoy the cricket song.

Enjoy the silence.

When I am keeping fire, all those who come in peace are welcome.

Fire calls to us.

It calls us to survive.

It calls us to thrive.

It calls us to connect.

It calls us regardless of similarities or diversities.

When I am keeping fire, we remember that we ALL need each other.

When I am keeping fire…

Black. Lives. Matter.

Music Trauma

I want to tell you a story. This is the story of a young child, and a single event that could have dramatically altered the entire world.

This child learned a song at summer camp. It was an adaptation of "Singing in the Rain.”

I'm singing in the rain

Just singing in the rain

What a glorious feeling

I'm teeter tottin', teeter tottin'

Teeter ta, ta, woo!

Teeter tottin', teeter tottin'

Teeter ta, ta, woo!

A joyful song!

One day, this child decided to take an umbrella and splash through some puddles when it was raining. Naturally, the song followed, and the child was happily singing and dancing in the rain.

Now a teenage boy, a neighbor, had been watching the child sing and dance, and when the child felt the watching eyes and looked up at the teen, the teen started laughing hysterically.

Feeling embarrassed and sad, the child, now in tears, stopped singing and went home.

The story could have ended there.

For so many people I've talked with, the story does end there. One bad experience making music can ruin someone for life.

I recall one woman I met through my first music therapy job. She was a new resident in the facility I worked for and I was getting to know her.

She told me the kinds of music she liked, and before playing and singing some of her favorites, I invited her to sing along if she was so inspired.

Her face became serious and it felt like she put up a wall. She said, "Oh, no. I don't sing." Curious, I asked "why not?" She replied, "When I was a little girl, one day I was singing in church, and when we finished, someone turned around and said to me, 'You really shouldn't do that.'"

I was devastated.

This woman, in her early seventies, had abandoned a lifetime of singing because one judgmental person opened their inconsiderate mouth.
I think I said in my shock something like "you're welcome to sing with me...I don't judge." I can't recall a single time when I ever saw that woman sing, or move to music, or tap her toes.

Tragic.

I realize some of you may think I'm overstating things by referring to "music" and "trauma" in the same breath, but hear me out.

I know bad things happen to people. I've worked with Veterans who've been dealing with PTSD since before it was called PTSD...for longer than I've been alive. That kind of trauma (thanks to our Veterans) is something most of us will never know.

Here's why music trauma needs to be talked about. Human brains are hard wired for music. We perceive it, we understand it, we create it. All of us. We've all heard children taunting each other with singing "na, na, na, na, boo, boo!" The syllables may vary, but children all over the world can do that. Where do they learn it? Here's the kicker...it's innate intelligence! We are born knowing how to sing that children's taunt! These abilities to understand and create music? There is absolutely NO biological reason for it! This thing that humans can do has nothing to do with sustaining our bodily existence! Yet we can all do it! But why?!

Okay, I feel a little bit like an episode of Ancient Aliens here, because I'm teasing you with a question that I don't have a good answer for, so...sorry about that.

What I do know is that music (and rhythm) connects all people in a way nothing else can. There is nothing more human than music and rhythm.

This is why I become enraged when I hear stories like little girls being told in church they shouldn't sing.

There are few things more invalidating and dehumanizing than one person standing in judgement of another's quality of expressing that most human of things...music. (I realize this statement is pretty high up the pyramid of Maslow's hierarchy, but we’re not meant to live at the bottom of the pyramid!).

How arrogant to think one can and should stand in judgment of someone's birthright!

As a music therapist, I know how healing music can be. I also know how insecure many people are about their own ability to create music and live as musical beings.

I'm of two minds though. I'm not only a music therapist, but I'm also a music educator. I can't turn off either one of these aspects of me, but I realized after meeting the woman I described above what an immense responsibility I have.

Especially when people discover I am a music professional, it seems my words carry more weight.

A misspoken word from somebody like me could create another story like the little girl who was told she shouldn't sing in church.

I've learned to compartmentalize my roles. Most often I approach the world as a music therapist. You see, music therapy is a process oriented experience, not a product oriented experience. This means when I approach the world as a music therapist, when people are singing while walking down the street, or tapping along to music, the music in the environment or just in their head, I'm happy. I don't care if the person is singing off key or their rhythm is not precise...I'm happy they are engaged in expressing their musicality! They are claiming their birthright and I think that is beautiful!

I want to share some words others have written that capture the essence of how I now approach music making.

The musician Michelle Shocked said:

Music is too important and too revolutionary to be left in the hands of professionals.

Just let that sink in.

One of my teachers and mentors, Christine Stevens

You Are Musical!

Being musical does not have to be difficult.

The ability to be musical comes from within.

You don't have to play an instrument to be musical.

You already ARE an instrument.

You are a naturally born musical being.

As a child, you made up songs.

You explored the world of sound and rhythm daily.

There is musical spirit waiting to be rediscovered in you.

Musical expression is everyone's birthright.

Music is not reserved for concert halls.

It can be an everyday event in everyday places.

Your performance in the shower or car is what matters most.

Making music is within your grasp.

It's about living a creative and spirited life.

It's about the choice to awaken your musical spirit and create harmony in your life.

This is for everyone who was ever told they were not musical,

Not good enough,

Silenced and excluded from music-making,

Yet still yearning for musical expression.

Unlock your musical spirit,

Quench the longing to bring music into your life,

Create harmony in your life and reconnect with the music that allows your soul to sing.

Christine Stevens

Upbeat Drum Circles

(reprinted with permission)

Words like these, stories like the little girl singing in church; these have shaped my life. I encourage music making everywhere I go.

Music is an every day occurrence!

When I hear someone singing quietly to themselves, I enthusiastically encourage them to not be shy and to sing it out, then express gratitude to them for sharing it. I also encourage others because I was that little boy singing a camp song joyfully while puddle splashing in the rain.

I can’t imagine how my life would look now if I wasn’t here to share music making and healing through music with the world.

I'm not exactly sure how I recovered from that music trauma, but I did.

Now I am here encouraging as much music making as possible.

Yes, the concert hall performances are important, but so are the times you sing in the shower, the times you sing with small children, the times you're brave enough to learn an instrument because you've always been curious.

Music is a part of humanity where we may feel vulnerable. When we feel vulnerable, we are much more open to trauma, but we are also much more open to our authentic selves.

When we relate to others in our authenticity...when we relate to ourselves in this way, the essence of our humanity shows through. The essence of our sameness shows through. Our sameness with every other person alive in this world.

When we are in Harmony with everyone in the world, there will be no more conflict, no separation (the biggest lie of all), and as John Lennon said, "the world will live as one."

Music trauma is not just about a little boy singing in the rain, or a little girl singing in church...it's about everyone being who they are meant to be, without shame, without reservations.

It's about all of us.

depression

This post is part 2 of a 3 part series I decided to do beginning with For My Friend.

This series is about mental health, specifically about depression.

I've never been shy talking about mental health issues, my own included (see also De-stigmatizing Mental Health) but when my friend, the friend I wrote For My Friend about took his own life, a victim of depression, I decided to share more of my own story. I do this as a tribute to my late friend, and also to encourage others with depression and other mental health issues to express themselves. If my words can encourage one person to voice their struggle instead of quietly ending their life, my time is well spent.

In this post, I will present something I wrote over 20 years ago. It's a personification of depression. After the text, I'll offer some insight into my thinking behind writing it.

depression

Oh how i've tasted

Your bitter fruit

Its caustic nectar

Stinging my flesh

As it drips down my face

Yet more and more i consume

And it, me

Nourishing my sad soul

Addicting me to the sting

Damning me to darkness

Alone

Kiss me once again

You wretched wench

Joy is fleeting

But your pain is eternal

On this i can depend

Kiss me yet again

The owls take flight

Hunting the evil good

To keep close

The safe bitterness

Fool!

Do you think i need

Your rank remedies?

That stink of your conceit

And your cure?

Why should i be saved

From that which is stable?

That which i know?

Honest is my maid

Always honest is she

The way of truth

And dark light

My maid doesn't deceive

As is your way

Deception your prime tool

For putting my gold in your pocket

You care nothing for me

Only the gold beast i unleash on your life Only she cares

She is my friend

And confidant

She is my queen

And my lover

i am her slave

Forever bound by her chains

Though i feel free

She doesn't lie

As your self-proclaimed deity ways do

My liege, my lady, is the darkness you say

But her light fires my soul

Keep your foul medicines

And your sick sanity

i follow the way of the truth

And the light

Preach your promises

Of happiness here no more

i'll no longer listen to your lies

Her dark light beckons me

And i must go

Her howl becomes ever insistent

Her putrid perfume

Cleanses me

Die in your deception fool!

i'll not need your tainted truth

Still say you i am without sanity?

Perhaps

But my lack of sanity is honest

And stable

And true

Thus, I am more sane than you

April 1, 1996 S.L. Orsborn

This piece was written within the first year of me trying medication for my depression.

The first, do I say paragraph, or stanza? Maybe stanza.

The first stanza introduces depression in the form that I personified it. Like a person, an entity that was outside of myself. An external locus of control, both cruel, and comforting. Painful, yet compelling.

I end that stanza referring to a feeling that is all too common for people living with mental health challenges...feeling damned to darkness, and alone.

The irony is, that I've worked on an acute mental health unit. I've worked to help people living with similar mental health issues as my own, while still struggling myself.

So many stories I've heard about people feeling ashamed of "not being able to snap out of it," or "just get over it." That shame often leads people to isolate themselves, either from the feelings of shame, the desire to protect others from the powerful feelings of despair, or sometimes both.

The fool referred to in the next stanza, and for the remainder of the piece is the first psychiatrist I ever worked with.

This man seemed uncomfortably obsessed with the potential sexual side effects of the medication he prescribed for me. During med check appointments, it felt like most of his questions were about whether or not I was having any difficulty with sexual performance. Looking back now, the sessions almost felt like a violation. I developed a loathsome contempt for this individual.

This time in my life was my first indication, though I didn't understand it at the time, that psych meds may not be the best option for me. The medication worked a little bit, for a little while, and then it didn't. This began a long road of trying many different types and brand names of psych meds. Anti-depressants, anti-anxieties, bipolar meds, anti-psychotics, mood stabilizers...all of it, the same thing. The would work for a while, then they didn't. I would max out of the dose, and I would be switched to another drug, or combination of drugs.

In the end, none of them worked.

Looking back, I was only about one year into trying medication for my depression, and I'm surprised at the intensity of phrases like "foul medicine", and "rank remedies." I should say that I am surprised at the level of intensity I felt that early in the process.

When I first wrote these words, happiness, joy, feelings of well being, all seemed like a lot of work.

Sometimes they still do.

They seemed to be something fragile, and easily shattered.

Sometimes they still do.

Depression (and it still feels this way now) felt more stable. I didn't have to work for it. It was always there, always available, and always ready to step in when the world seemed not quite right.

I speak as if this is all in the past; it's not.

Depression (and anxiety) is something I live with 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.

It is just one more thing I have to manage. I don't know as I will ever be rid of it.

I mean, it's been over 30 years so far...

One last thought in this analysis of the writing... notice how all of the "i" pronouns are lower case except one?

At the time of writing, I was SURE this was a subtle yet profound statement, that next to the depression I was small, and insignificant. That is until the last line when I find power of being in partnership with the depression, "Thus, I am more sane than you"

I am not as certain of the profundity of this lack of capitalization as I used to be, but I still think it makes a statement.

I Am Fearless In My Heart

It will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me, or anyone who has followed my work that I find deep, significant meaning in music, and song lyrics. 

I go through phases of listening to certain songs that resonate with me, inspire me, and motivate me. As someone living with treatment resistant depression, and anxiety, sometimes these motivational songs get a lot of play. 

A song from my youth that was a huge motivator for me is Steve Vai's "The Audience Is Listening." The music video for the song illustrates perfectly the story line of the music. A teacher is talking to a school age boy about him playing a guitar composition for his class. As the teacher introduced "Little Stevie Vai", she invites his friends to come up and play with him (forming the rest of the band).

What ensues is a loud, raucous, and sassy bit of electric guitar virtuosity. Check it out here.

Near the end of the song, "Little Stevie" and grown up Steve Vai say these immortal words:

I am fearless in my heart

They will always see that in my eyes

I am The Passion

I am The Warfare

I will never stop

Always constant,

Accurate,

And intense

For so many years, these words helped me keep going when it would have been so easy to give up. It was a reminder to myself; I am FEARLESS in my heart!

The first lines of these words, in essence, became like a mantra for me...

I am fearless in my heart 

They will always see that in my eyes

I am fearless in my heart 

They will always see that in my eyes

Over and over I would repeat the words until I felt like I could continue with my life.

But a few months ago, listening to "The Audience Is Listening" and reciting those powerful words, I choked up.

A sobering truth slammed into me like a mag lev train at full power...

It was a lie.

I realized that I am NOT fearless. 

I sent a panicked text to a dear friend and admitted that I am scared every single day. Sometimes it's what's called "floating anxiety" (a background anxiety about nothing specific) sometimes I am absolutely convinced that my partner will leave me, my children will never speak me again, the money will run out, and I'll end up cold, and alone in some gutter somewhere, dying a miserable death, and forgotten by the ages.

It's a lot, right? That's what it's like on almost a daily basis in my head.

Ah, but I missed something!

I missed something critical, and it wasn't until weeks later that I found what I missed...the phrase "in my heart."

Now I would love to drop the mike here, but I should explain.

I am a highly intellectual person. I think, rethink, and overthink...except when I'm impulsive, and I don't think...

Intellectual ways of being are very necessary. Intellectually living helps me analyze and understand things in a deep way, but intellect itself is unbalanced.

I have instinctively developed an intellectual, and logical way of being because it feels much safer than having to deal with emotions. Cold, rational, intellectual...that's the way to insulate from those pesky, and sometimes terrifying emotions.

There are things in my life that I can trace back these coping mechanisms to. That's another story.

In recent years, with the help of my partner,  I have been trying to live a more heart centered life. That is where the emotions live.

Some of this I figured out on my own. I couldn't have been a good music therapist all these years if I was all intellect, all the time. But, I still default to that way of being in times of stress.

So back to Steve Vai's words...

Remember when I was describing how the anxiety, the fear manifests itself? I said "That's what it's like on almost a daily basis in my head." (is it gauche to quote myself?)

I am FEARFUL in my head.

Like Steve Vai, I am FEARLESS in my heart.

I have ample evidence of this. When I am thinking about my business, and my spiritual journey in this life time, I have doubts, I have fears. When I approach these things from a heart centered place, there is no fear. There is only knowing. Knowing that this human being is doing his best to relate to his work and other human beings in the best way he knows how. There is knowing that what I have to share with the word is meaningful, and important, and a unique gift given to me that must be shared.

When I operate from my heart, there is more authenticity in my way of being with myself, and others. I am more truly myself.

Steve Vai's words are profound to me. I don't know if his intention was for the way I have come to understand those words, but I am grateful that he shared this part of his authenticity with the world.

Eckhart Tolle, when speaking of present moment awareness says that when we initially begin to practice it, we may only achieve a few seconds of present moment awareness at a time, but that with continued practice, we can live more and more in the present moment.

With that in mind, I look forward to the time when:

I am fearless in my heart

They will ALWAYS see that in my eyes.

The 730 Project

Over three months ago, I assigned myself a project…a long term project.

This project will take two years to complete.

It all started with a meme. The meme says “Show up every day for 2 years.”

It goes on to say the reasons why, and concludes that most people won’t do it because it’s not a quick and easy process.

The meme states that showing up is the key to success in all areas of life.

That’s what I’m going to find out.

Two years. 730 days. The 730 Project.

I’m posting vlogs detailing my progress. It’s been a lot of ups and downs lately, but I’m sticking with it. Last night I recorded the video for Day 110.

I’m posting to YouTube, Instagram, Facebook, and LinkedIn.

You can find all the links here

Check it out!

I Love The Sound of the Rain

Near summer rain in Northeastern Iowa

This morning I was gently awakened by the sound of rain. It’s not a sound I’m used to though.

I was awakened by the sound of a thirsty earth, gratefully receiving the life giving water. The sound of renewal and replenishment. The sound of a near summer shower promising growth, and green, and vitality. The sound of the natural rhythms of Pachamama, Gaia, Earth Mother.

In recent years, I have lived in Southern California, and most recently, Central Florida. Densely populated areas, especially compared to where I am now in rural Iowa.

I returned to this place, short hours from where I was born and raised, for a graduation, a community song circle, and spreading music medicine.

This is my first morning here without the rest of my live in family, who returned to Florida while I continue my sacred work here. This first morning, and a greeting of rain falling the way it is meant to.

You see, in the hustle and bustle of urban life I have grown accustomed to, rain does not sound like it did this morning.

In Florida, it rains often. A welcome thing after living in drought stricken California for two years. But that rain is accompanied by the sound of hundreds, thousands of car tires on wet pavement. It’s like a hackle raising hiss foretelling danger. Unnatural white noise…a reminder of the triumphs of modern civilization (and the decimation of natural spaces).

Here in my refuge, staying with good friends, things are as they should be. Insects buzz, birds sing, frogs call, and the sound of rain is peaceful, gentle, and comforting.

Now I return to rocking slowly on a porch swing, contently wrapped in nature’s sound bath, with deep gratitude.

For My Friend

I've been putting this off.

It's painful, and part of me believes when I finish writing this post...well, that there's a finality involved.

But this needs to be shared. I made a promise that I would share this, and this will tear me up inside if I don't.

Last Saturday was a day full of emotions for me. My oldest child graduated high school. A lot of people see graduation as the end of a road...just like getting a black belt. The goal was set and has been reached! I learned long ago that getting a black belt is just the first step...a weeding out process. After you get that black belt, the REAL learning begins.

Now that my child has that metaphorical black belt, a world of possibilities is now open.

That's a big deal, right?

We live in a different state than my children from my first marriage, so we made a long road trip to celebrate graduation.

As it turns out, our trip coincided with another celebration.

Later that same day, I had the opportunity to reminisce with some old friends at the Unitarian Universalist church that I started attending right before my divorce.

I went back to that church for a Celebration of Life...what others would call a memorial service.

You see, a friend, husband, father, master of puns, and avid forager left us. He left us by his own hand. I'll always remember the day he left us. It was my 45th birthday.

Exactly how he left us is unknown to me. His family requests that the details not be asked about, and really it doesn't matter. This beautiful soul is gone from this existence and his memory lives on.

In a sense I do know why he left. It's because of something I myself am painfully aware of: depression.

Actually, it's one of the things that brought this friend and me together.

Early on after joining this church, our families became friends. They have kids close in age to my kids, so we would share the joys and commiserate as parents do.

A year or two into this new church life, an opportunity arose for me to make dinner for groups of people on Wednesday nights. That's when there were all the music rehearsals, meetings, and some people who just came for dinner and to hang out.

This friend had a great appreciation for my cooking. He always thanked me, he expressed eager anticipation about the next week's menu, and he told me on more than one occasion that I should seriously consider opening a restaurant. It was an ego boost and humbling at the same time.

Around that time, he approached me for the first time with an offer. I'm not sure if he sensed the depression in me, or if someone told him. He offered to listen, if ever I wanted to talk about what was going on. He said that he knew well what living with depression is like and he'd be happy to lend an ear.

He made that offer several more times over the years. I don't know as I ever really took him up on it. Maybe a few thoughts here or there, but I never really poured it all out.

That's the great irony with depression...mental health in general: we often feel shame at feeling the way we do, and don't want to burden anyone else with it. We turn it inward, and it grows and deepens. Often, we isolate ourselves too...which makes the cycle worse. We don't want to bring others down, maybe we think we should just be able to snap out of it.

You see, I worked on an acute mental health unit. I've talked with a lot of people living with depression, and a lot of those people exhibit suicidal ideation. There are two levels of SI. SI itself is having persistent thoughts that your family, friends, the world would be better off if I was dead. That's serious, but SI with a plan is even more serious: I'm going to end my life, and here are the details of exactly how I will do it. That's critical.

I used to tell my patients that most people (I would term it this way so as to not invalidate anyone's feelings), most people don't actually want to end their lives. Most people get into a severe depression, or are in extreme physical, or emotional pain and they want that pain to stop. Many see the only option to ending that pain is to end their life.

Keep in mind, I was working in a locked mental health unit with brilliant psychiatrists and social workers in case one of these patients needed immediate care. Talking about these matters is always delicate, and I’m glad my patients had a safe environment to express those feelings in.

Sometimes, people do like my friend did. My understanding is that for years he told his wife that one day he'd just walk into the woods and not come back.

I think that's what he did.

From the outside, it doesn't make sense. He has a beautiful wife, and beautiful children, and from the outside things seem pretty good.

It's never that simple with depression though.

From the outside, I have a beautiful wife, and beautiful children. We have a pretty good life, but for me, even when everything seems to be nearly perfect, often times I find myself pausing and saying to myself "What the hell's wrong with me? There is absolutely nothing I would change in my life right now...so why can't I be happy?"

And I'll let you in on a little secret: no treatment I have tried over the last 25 years has ever worked for me long term. I have tried a whole laundry list of antidepressants, anti anxiety, mood stabilizers, antipsychotics, bipolar meds...I've even done something called Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation...an uncomfortable, sometimes painful series of magnetic bursts being directed into specific areas of the brain in order to jumpstart the correct neurons into firing properly.

None of it worked long for me.

So I've resigned myself to maintaining a spiritual, exercise, and music practice in order to manage my symptoms. Honestly, sometimes that doesn't work either.

I don't know what daily life was like for my friend. Admittedly, since I moved away, we kept in touch mostly through social media, sharing that mutual love for word play and puns. I never thought to ask how things were going. I mean, sure, there was the typical inquiries that friends do, but I never asked, "No, really, how are things?" with that compassionate, caring look that I saw in his eyes all those times he offered to listen.

Maybe on some level I figured that if he was offering an understanding ear to me, that he must have his own depression well in hand. Maybe that's just the story I tell myself because I don't want to admit that I'm a hypocrite. That I was out there helping other people with their mental health issues while I was barely keeping mine in check. Or that if I was paying attention, and not in denial about how my own depression was crushing me, that I could have seen that my friend needed help. Maybe by offering to listen to me, he was trying to help himself too. Maybe if I would have opened up to him, he wouldn't have taken that walk into the woods that day.

I know. That's wasted energy thinking that way. I know I’m not responsible for anyone else’s choices, but there's always that part of me that will wonder if I could have helped.

I had been thinking about him over the past couple of months. We went to a workshop on edible plants in Florida a couple of months ago, and the presenter wrote a book on foraging in Florida. I thought how much my friend would enjoy that book, and exploring edibles in a new place, but then thought it might not be practical since he probably doesn't get to Florida all that often. I didn't get that book for him, and I never thought that I wouldn't have had the opportunity to give it to him anyway.

We were driving through Georgia when my wife told me. A mutual friend sent her a text informing her the night before, not realizing our relationship with the family. My wife waited until she had a little time to process and ground herself so she could be supportive of me.

I've lost a lot of people. When I got the call that my Mom died, tears instantly poured down my face, but I never cried for anyone else right away until my wife told me our friend was gone. I just kept saying "it's not fair." Over and over again. And the tears did come. With all the loss I've experienced, I've never experienced one from suicide.

But in those moments after I learned of his passing, my friend gave me one last gift. I've experienced suicidal ideation, sometimes on a regular basis. In those moments as the thought "it's not fair" repeated itself in my mind, I decided that when it is my time to transition from this life, it will not be by my own hand.

As someone who's studied some psychology, and who married a psychologist, in the midst of a flurry of textbook responses, like flying through all of the stages of grief in a few minutes, that one realization remained constant: I will fight for every second of life. In those moments, I made that vow to myself, and my family, and my friend.

I don't know if he ever realized how much I appreciated his offer to listen back then, and in a sense he'll never know how precious his final gift to me is, but I will remember. I will remember and I will work to share my experiences so when others walk into the woods, they will come back.

Bright blessings in the next life my friend.

I Believe Women

My wife and I watched the Senate hearing today.

Dr. Christine Blasey Ford reminded me of a line Heath Ledger said in A Knight's Tale: "I'm a knight, and I will put myself to the hazard!"

Today, I saw this brave human being, Dr. Ford, put herself to the hazard. She was triumphant. No matter what happens after this, she was triumphant. Dr. Ford told her story, in a good way, with poise, truth, and integrity. She has been placed under a brutal microscope, and received death threats, and yet she stood front and center on the national stage and spoke her truth with courage.

At the end of the evening, I stumbled across a clip from The Daily Show where Trevor Noah was commenting on specific moments of the hearing. Seeing Brett Kavanaugh address the senators was like watching a petulant child throwing a tantrum while blaming the dog for the broken dish on the kitchen floor. I kept thinking to myself, "how can anyone think that this is a good person, let alone put this person in a lifetime position of power?"

I said to my wife, "I can't imagine that even the Republicans who will vote for Kavanaugh think he's actually a good person and worthy of such a position."

She reminded me that Senator Grassley (ashamed to admit I'm from Iowa because of people like him) sure seems to want to get Kavanaugh appointed.

I argued that was just politics.

After seeing Kavanaugh assume the demeanor of a very immature 17 year old boy when Senator Amy Klobuchar asked him twice if he had ever been "blackout drunk", then dodging the question, twice, and responding, "I'm curious if you've ever been blackout drunk", I simply cannot imagine that anyone believes this man should be in such a powerful position.

But I'm probably wrong.

You see, men often have power over women. It's like Palpatine says in Revenge of the Sith: "All those who gain power are afraid to lose it."

So maybe it makes sense that men who are afraid of losing their power would actually want someone like Kavanaugh on the Supreme Court. He presents as someone who would try to maintain male dominance.

But in this lifetime, I've been hardwired to rage against people who want to dominate others, especially men who try to dominate women. The fire in my Indigo soul is stoked every time I hear about or otherwise witness the sad reality of the patriarchy in action against women. That's why I used to love teaching women's self defense classes. All people deserve to go through this life being treated with dignity and respect. If however a man won't take "no" for an answer, I don't think it hurts for a woman to know how to crush an eyeball, and just how much pressure it takes to do so.

Recently, I made friends with a woman at a drum circle. As our friendship develops, and we talk, she confides that often she feels cautious around men, "because...well, you know...life." Although she also said that she does not feel cautious around me, for which I'm thankful, I began to empathize with her feelings.

A day or two after that conversation, the gravity of her words hit me.

I sent her this message:

I remember you saying something to the effect that you are often cautious around men. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry you feel the need for that. I’m sorry because you’re very justified in feeling like that. You and every woman deserve to feel safe all the time. I’m sorry you don’t.

She thanked me for those words. Those words are not enough. I don't know if anything will ever be enough to make up for the millennia of men treating women like second class women, forcing themselves and their power lust on them, and generally being awful human beings toward women.

During the hearing today, I watched one women with immeasurable courage, stand up and state quite clearly that she was assaulted, and that the truth had to be known.

Her example, her courage, her honoring of the truth gives me hope.

For what it's worth Dr. Christine Blasey Ford, this author believes you.

In Memoriam- A Story of Holiday Loss

I used to say that the holiday season has ALWAYS been hard for me. Always isn't quite the right word, but now that I think back, the holidays have been hard for me for a good 20 years now.

With so many things in my life, there's this odd juxtaposition is seemingly opposite things. My first wife was born in December. My wife now, born in December. My oldest son, my sister in law, my stepdaughter, my father in law...all December birthdays.

In Pagan traditions, December brings about (with the Winter Solstice) the rebirth of the Sun (God figure). Christians celebrate the birth of Christ (no matter the historical inaccuracy of the date).

In my sphere of existence, there is a whole lot of birth and rebirth celebration going on this time of year.

It is also a time of grief, and loss for me.

You see, exactly 20 years from the date this blog post went live, my mother passed from this life, and my life hasn't been the same since.

It was three weeks after my first wedding.

My Dad called a few days before, and asked me to come talk to Mom. He was worried about her. Said she hadn't been feeling well, but refused to go to the doctor. He was also concerned by the fact that she had apparently been having difficulty writing their last name. Misspellings, incomplete words.

He showed me envelopes that she had been addressing for Christmas letters...unusual in and of itself, because she hadn't sent out Christmas letters in recent memory. Her behavior was off too. She just wasn't herself. We thought maybe she'd had a mild stroke, but I'll never know for sure.

I remember saying to her, as my new wife and I were leaving, "Take care of yourself. We're going to have children someday, and I want my children to know their Grandma."

That turns out to be the last thing I ever said to her.

I don't remember if I told her I loved her or not. I hope I did. It's so rare that we actually know that our final words when leaving someone are actually our final words to them.

So on this morning, 20 years ago, around 7:30 in the morning, I was just starting the day as a shift leader at a Hardee's in the student union of the local university. The boss told me I had a phone call. When I answered, I heard my Dad's shaky voice on the other end: "Stephen? Mother passed away. Can you come?"

For the first time in my life, I experienced what to me was a strange phenomenon...tears instantly streamed down my face.

It seems she left us in the night.

I don't know if by rights, I could say that the denial stage of grief had already crept in, but certainly, disbelief at what I was hearing.

Over the next few days, I had to grow up faster than I thought possible.

I'm an only child, and my Dad was a wreck. So many details were left up to me and my new bride. During those next few days, was the only time I ever saw my father cry. The first time seeing Mom in a casket, he almost fell over. We clung to each other.

There was a flood of phone calls, people delivering food and condolences. So much of it's a blur, but on a cold December day, December 20th, we laid my mother's earthly remains to rest.

Just over a year later, my Grandma joined her. She was the only grandparent I really remember. She was living with my parents when Mom left us.

She recounted to me, more than once, watching the paramedics bring Mom downstairs, covered with a sheet, except for one foot. With those stories, I understood when I'd heard people say that a parent should never live to see their children die.

A year after that, nearly saw my end. Due to a traumatic intubation just prior to surgery, December 20 (perhaps some sort of nexus) was almost my last day of life.

My first wife, pregnant with our oldest daughter, was told to call her family, my family (just my Dad at that point), and our life insurance company...they didn't expect me to survive.

So when people say the holidays are hard because they've lost loved ones, I get it. All those memories come flooding back. The family traditions that aren't quite the same. That special recipe that is close to the way the passed loved one made it, but not quite. For me, it's so intense. I can't predict when all those feelings will hit me. I still get anxious as the holidays approach...wondering which shoe is next to drop.

Perhaps you'll forgive me, just a bit, if I seem down, or pensive while the holiday cheer is being shared. Try to understand when I listen to Trans Siberian Orchestra's "The Christmas Attic" album over and over, crying while singing all of those songs about trying to find our way home, and not being alone at Christmas.

That day changed me forever. Home would never be the same. A longing that has never left me was born that day.

And let's face it: sometimes a guy just needs his Mom.

So this time of year, for the past two decades, I've felt like I've been searching for something...something I can never quite find, and to be honest, in all this time, I've never quite gotten used to it.

The sense of loss, the sense of longing for what once was and will never be again.

As a music therapist, I know how to shift my mood with music. Yes, I love the Christmas classics, and sing along with them as well (try singing "Feliz Navidad" with a Castilian accent and TRY not to laugh until you cry!) but at this time of year, sometimes I sing those TSO songs and cry, because it reminds me of the sadness that came to me in the dark of winter, all those years ago. That too can be healing.

I do my best to hold space for the joy, and magic, and miracles of this season. The grief still comes; some years more than others.

Maybe it seems like I'm stuck.

In a lot of ways I am. I know that. I acknowledge that.

But please be patient with me.

After all, it's only been half a lifetime.

In memory of Karen, Mildred, and Steve ❤️

Never Say Goodbye

I always reminisce and get sentimental around this time of year. Maybe it’s the slowing down of the seasons, heading toward that longest night of the year on Yule. Maybe it’s chilly nights and crisp days, although for this Midwestern boy who’s been living in warm climates for three Autumns now, that chill, that crispness is quite relative.

Anyway, I got hit with some nostalgia just a while ago. Everyone else was settling in to sleep for the night, and I was getting the dishwasher loaded and the kitchen cleaned up. In addition to the pasta and asparagus everyone else wanted tonight, I continued my experiments in learning to make falafel, hummus, and toum, an intense garlic dipping sauce. In other words, more dishes than usual.

I asked the Echo Show in our kitchen to play the Bon Jovi station from iHeart Radio. It’s a great mix of some old favorites that is especially enjoyable when I’m working in the kitchen...although how the hell Nickelback gets into that mix, I'll never know.

First song..."Never Say Goodbye" from Bon Jovi's _Slippery When Wet_album.

I chuckled, and was instantly transported to an Eighth grade dance. A dance when that song was played twice. The second time was the last dance of the night. By that time, J and I had decided we were a couple. I'm not really sure how that happened, but it did...and it was my first relationship.

Now this was quite a small school, and I am using this young lady's initial to protect her identity. You see, junior high romances can be quite a delicate subject.

I was on top of the world!

The relationship lasted all of four days.

Now, I know...why nostalgia about a four day relationship? Well, it's really what came out of the end of that relationship that still brings a smile to my face.

As sometimes happens with these junior high romances, J sent a friend of hers to break up with me. Her name is J also. Same initial, same first name.

Friend J (not ex-girlfriend J) was very sweet and very apologetic. She didn't know details of J's reasoning, but offered to find out for me. Friend J came back later and reported that J was just playing a joke on me, she wasn't serious, etc.

To her credit, when J and I found each other years later on Facebook, she apologized for the way she treated me. I easily forgave her. We were young...these things happen.

We kept in good touch until one day I made disparaging remarks about the silly Facebook quizzes..."What 1980's song are you?" or "What breakfast cereal are you?"

Who the hell cares what breakfast cereal they are?

Apparently J cares.

After reading my snarky remarks about the ludicrous quizzes, she commented that she works hard, and if she wants to unwind by taking quizzes like that, then she should have every right to do so!

Then she unfriended me.

I haven't heard from her since.

Guess we REALLY weren't meant to be in each other's lives. (I still think those quizzes are stupid.)

But back to Friend J...

She became my friend. We were in a lot of the same activities together, and she was kind, and sweet, and cute. Yes, I had a crush on her for a while, though I never told her.

Some of my fondest memories with her, and forgive me if I have written about this before, is the year we had study hall together. We never studied...we went to the band room to play music. She'd play the piano, I'd play the drum set. We'd play the same songs over, and over, and we were happy. We were content to share that music in that space, in that time. Sometimes people would listen and chat for a while, sometimes it was just the two of us.

That's what I get nostalgic for. That friendship with Friend J. That friendship that we still keep up through social media.

I wonder if we could get that back. If we got together with that piano, and those drums, would those old songs come back to us?

That's one thing that I love about music. In just a few notes, I was whisked 30 years into the past, to the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Those warm feelings set aglow a place in my heart that has been quiet.

Though Jon Bon Jovi was singing "Never Say Goodbye" to J and me, it's Friend J and I who have yet to say it.